


Remnant Faces, Fleeting Traces

by renrenners



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, M/M, no beta we die like Glenn, very minor smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28208316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/renrenners/pseuds/renrenners
Summary: Felix Hugo Fraldarius dies on a Thursday. It is a noble death, in service of his king. His father would have been proud.Dimitri hates it.—Years after the war's end, a new ghost appears by Dimitri's side.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62
Collections: 2020 Dimilix Exchange





	Remnant Faces, Fleeting Traces

**Author's Note:**

> My Dimilix holiday exchange fic for Angeeya! I couldn't resist going for ghost Felix, but I am incapable of not writing happy endings. Hopefully it is still to your tastes!
> 
> The fic's title is taken from Echoes of You by Mariana's Trench, as I cannot for the life of me title things without using song lyrics.

Felix Hugo Fraldarius dies on a Thursday. It is a noble death, in service of his king. His father would have been proud.

Dimitri hates it. _Felix_ would have hated it, the way everyone in the capital titters on about how honorable it was. How _tragic_.

It was supposed to be an easy mission. Dispatch a group of remaining Imperial loyalists in the former Empire territory, no one nearly as skilled as those they faced during the war itself, and return to Fhirdiad safe and sound. No one could have expected the dark mages that had been waiting in the shadows, the likes of which they hadn’t seen since the day they had taken Enbarr, two years back. 

There are no survivors. Not even any identifiable bodies to be sent back to their loved ones. Just like Glenn, the only piece of Felix that comes home is his sword.

  
—

  
When Dimitri returns to his empty chamber that night, it is with Felix’s sword held carefully in his hands. There is a low fire burning in the fireplace, bathing the room in a warm glow and yet he cannot feel any of its heat. He might as well have been standing out in the snow that carpeted Fhirdiad for all of the chill that had been embracing him since the news had first been delivered.

There are touches of Felix throughout the room; a jacket draped over the back of a chair, a half-read book on one of the nightstands, a wardrobe filled with Fraldarius blues. It’s just as it was yesterday, when Felix was just going to be gone for a few days, rather than for all of eternity. 

It’s enough for the anger and grief that had been growing inside of the king all day to boil over and with a snarl Dimitri throws the sword across the room, metal reverberating loudly as it clashes against the stone floor. 

He doesn’t sleep. The bed is too large and too cold, the voices in his head too loud to ignore. As the early morning light slowly begins to wash the night away there is just the barest flicker of movement that catches Dimitri’s eye and he jerks up in an instant.

There, in one of the plush armchairs by the fire, sits Felix. He is just barely illuminated by the embers smoldering behind him, his sword unsheathed on his lap as he meticulously cleans it. It’s a scene that Dimitri has seen a thousand times before, comforting and familiar if not for one thing.

Felix is dead.

“No.” He whispers, sitting up in bed.

Felix is dead, and yet here he is.

It is then that Felix looks up from his work, his face half burnt beyond recognition, blood trickling down from the crown of his head. “You did this.” He says, his voice dripping with an all too familiar malice.

“You’re not real.” Dimitri hisses between clenched teeth, “Begone from here!”

“You would deny me? After I died for you?” Felix scoffs, and on the unmarred side of his face his lip curls in disgust, “You truly are nothing but a beast.”

Felix is gone in an instant, the armchair empty once more, but it is already too late. 

  
—

  
The freshly fallen snow crunches beneath the hooves of his horse as Sylvain rides through the streets of Fhirdiad. Even as afternoon approaches there is a biting chill to the air, frost still clinging to the windows and eaves throughout the city. It is not unfamiliar, not for someone born and raised in this miserable country, but Sylvain hates it all the same. He hates lots of things, but nothing more than the fact that he’s here right now.

He had left Gautier as soon as the pegasus knight had delivered Ingrid’s message the day before. The Margrave had had some choice words about it, but frankly Sylvain had long since run out of fucks to give so far as his father was involved. The miserable old man was living on borrowed time as it was, and his messes would all be Sylvain’s to clean up as soon as he finally kicked it. Until yesterday, it had been a future that he had been looking forward to.

Never had he imagined that future would be without Felix.

Ingrid is already at the stables when he reaches them, and judging by the red of her nose and cheeks she had been waiting for him. Her eyes are glistening when they meet his, and the redness there is surely not just from the cold.

“What happened?” Sylvain asks as soon as he’s dismounted, passing his reins off to a stablehand without a second thought. Any other day he would do it himself, take his time to show his appreciation to his beloved mare just as he had during the war. But right now there were more important things to do.

“Not here.” Ingrid says, taking him by the arm to lead inside and under any other circumstances Sylvain would have teased her about it. But what was usually a strong and steady grip befitting of the knight she was, today Sylvain could feel the slight tremble to her hands.

Neither of them speak while they walk the familiar halls, and the silence is deafening. The only sound is the echo of their footsteps, reverberating around them as Ingrid quickly leads them to the king’s office.

Dedue looks up at the sound of the door opening, looking years older than the last time Sylvain had seen him, despite it only having been a few short moons. Despite it being his own office, Dimitri is absent.

“Will someone please tell me what happened!” Sylvain asks again, his gaze flitting between his friends. 

“Felix was heading a unit that was sent to purge any remaining groups of Imperial loyalists.” Dedue says slowly, “This was not their first excursion, nor would it have been their last. Somehow our information was compromised, because they were met by an ambush outside of the fortress their targets were hiding in. The details are not clear, as there were no survivors, but the marks left behind indicate that dark mages were involved. It wasn’t until the next morning that the battlefield was discovered by a local patrol.”

“But we know for sure that it was Felix.” It is less a question than a plea, that maybe, somehow, this was all a mistake.

“There were no bodies left behind, none that could be identified at least.” Ingrid answers, her voice rough, “But it was his unit. His sword was amongst the wreckage, I found it myself. It’s the only thing we brought back. His Majesty has it now.”

“Fuck.” Sylvain hisses, sinking heavily down into a chair, “And Dimitri?”

“So far he has been himself.” Dedue says with a heavy sigh, “Only time will tell if that will hold true, however.”

Sylvain curses under his breath, “Then what’s the plan from here? What are we doing about those Imperial assholes?”

“Currently we have knights and mages out in every corner of the country investigating, trying to find any trace of the culprits. Unfortunately until we know something there is not much we can do.” Dedue says, “Once the Professor and the others are here we will head for Fraldarius for the burial. With any luck we will get at least some information by then to put together a plan of attack.”

“So what, we just sit here twiddling our thumbs? While Felix’s murderers are still out there?” Sylvain demands.

“We can’t just tear through the country looking for ghosts, Sylvain.” Ingrid says, and she sounds as exhausted as Sylvain feels, “It’s not the war anymore, we have to do these things properly. For Dimitri’s sake.”

As though summoned, Dimitri appears in the doorway, a deep bag under his single visible eye that is far more reminiscent of the days of war than the king he had become over the past two years. When his gaze lands on Sylvain he offers a feeble attempt at a smile, but it is more akin to a grimace than anything else. 

Sylvain gathers him into a hug, and it is over his friend’s shoulder than he sees it: Felix standing by the window, gazing out at the snow covered courtyard. It’s a vast contrast from the bloodied Felix that had greeted him that morning, all crisp and clean clothes, his hair pulled up into its usual bun. Dimitri can just barely see the chain that hangs around his neck, and though it disappears beneath his shirt Dimitri knows well enough what rests at the bottom of it.

Had it really only been four moons since Dimitri had offered up a ring and his heart to the only person he had ever loved? Felix had refused, of course, his eyes wet as he went on and on about heirs and propriety and half a dozen other things that he had never cared about before. And when finally, finally, he said yes, letting Dimitri slip the ring onto his finger even as he complained about it throwing off his grip, it was perhaps the happiest Dimitri had ever been in his entire life.

Sylvain is speaking, but Dimitri cannot hear it. He can’t hear anything but the heady rush of blood that’s pounding in his ears louder than a drum. 

It can’t be real. 

  
—

  
Dimitri returns to his chambers alone after dinner, the pit in his stomach ever growing. He had barely even picked at the meal, taking bites only when there were too many eyes on him not to. It had been no more than their small group, thankfully, but those were also the people that knew Dimitri the best 

The room should have been empty, but of course it is not. There’s a single figure lit by the lone candle on the desk, and Dimitri’s heart seizes in his chest at the sight. It’s Felix, the same Felix that he had seen earlier, and his heart plummets at the sight. Felix is dressed for court rather than battle, but his scowl is ever present as he sits at Dimitri’s desk, hunched over the papers spread out across it and for a fraction of a second Dimitri can almost pretend that this is normal. That it’s really Felix sitting there, rather than a hallucination of his own mind.

But it’s not. He has to keep telling himself that, because if he loses himself again then Felix will never forgive him.

“What do you want.” Dimitri speaks without even thinking about it, but Felix doesn’t even look up.

“That’s no way to greet someone, Boar.”

“I don’t care.” Dimitri says through gritted teeth, “You’re not real. You’re not Felix.”

It’s only then that Felix looks up, his face clean and unmarred and Goddess how Dimitri wants to kiss him. “Then it shouldn’t matter whether or not I’m here.”

“Begone!” Dimitri snaps.

“Or what, Boar?” Felix asks, a single eyebrow raised, “Here I thought that you idolized your ghosts.”

Except Felix had never wanted to be one. He had told Dimitri explicitly how he felt about it, both before their reconciliation and after. Seeing him here, like this, was Dimitri’s mind betraying him in the worst way possible.

“Or do you only idolize the ones promoting your bloodlust?” Felix continues, a bite to his words, “Do you want me to scream for revenge like they do?”

“Get out!”

Felix is in front of him in a heartbeat, his ice cold fingers slowly trailing down Dimitri’s cheek, and Dimitri’s eye clenches shut upon the phantom touch, “Is that really what you want?” He asks, “For me to be gone?”

It’s not, Goddess knows it’s not. Dimitri would give anything to have Felix here with him, even his own life. But this thing in front of him is not Felix, just his own madness rearing its head once more. And he cannot lose himself again, not when he had promised Felix otherwise.

When finally opens his eye again, the room is empty once more.

  
—

  
The ride to Fraldarius is cold and quiet. Uneventful. Dimitri lags at the back of the group, certainly unbecoming of a king but given that it is only their friends and a small part of the King’s guard he isn’t too concerned with it. Normally it would be Felix who nagged him about such propriety and whatnot, as though that was something he had ever cared about before.

Felix would never care about any of those things again.

There is a fine dusting of newly fallen snow over the Fraldarius estate, typical of this time of year. It would be piled high in just a few short weeks, but for now it is no more than a small crunch beneath their boots. Fitting for a funeral. 

The Fraldarius estate has had a minimal staff these past two years, with Felix spending most of his time in the capitol since the war’s end, and all of them seem to be bustling about when the group finally arrives. Many are familiar faces, families that had worked for Duke Fraldarius long before that title had belonged to Felix, or even to Rodrigue. 

Felix’s sword still sits in their chambers at Fhirdiad, miles upon miles away. It will not fill the space of the empty coffin, as his brother’s had so many years ago. Would it have been what Felix wanted? Dimitri does not know. He feels like he doesn’t know anything these days.

He had stood there in the king’s chambers, staring at it for what felt like hours. Remembering the look on Felix’s face when Dimitri had presented it to him, when their romantic relationship was still new and tender. 

Dimitri had decided to marry him that day. He had always wanted to, ever since they were but boys with no true knowledge of the world. It had been an impossible dream of his all of his life, one that could never come to pass. And as they grew older, Felix grew to hate him, and so Dimitri had buried that wish deep down inside of him. In his madness it was easy to forget everything but his lust for revenge, to forget what it was that he had always loved about Felix.

He almost wished he could forget again. But he knows what it is like to be loved by Felix now, knows the warmth of his touch and the beat of his heart. Dimitri will never forget Felix again, not when memories are all he has left of him. 

The funeral is a small, quiet affair. There are tears all around, but Dimitri doesn’t cry. He watches the empty coffin being entombed next to Glenn’s, the very last Fraldarius laid to rest, and his eyes are dry.

Dead because of Dimitri, just like all the others.

  
—

  
There’s a report waiting when they return to Fhirdiad from the group of knights that had been investigating the bloody scene. It is nothing in depth, but rather a simple statement that a lead has been found regarding where the Imperial attackers may have gone.

The knight delivering the message is a young one, and his eyes are nervous as he watched the silent king. 

“Send whatever troops we have to assist with the investigation.” Dimitri orders, the first words he’s said since before they had left Fraldarius the day before. While the knight nods, appearing anxious to go, Dedue stops him with a single hand.

“Are you sure that’s wise, Your Majesty?” He asks Dimitri softly, “We have already sent all of our spare soldiers, to send more would risk leaving our defenses severely weakened.”

“Finding those responsible is more important.” Dimitri snaps back, “There have been no problems beyond standard bandit fare for moons, Fhirdiad will be fine.”

It is, surprisingly, Sylvain who replies, his face uncharacteristically grim, “Yeah, but… what if that’s what they’re aiming for? Whoever these assholes are, they were strong enough to take out Felix and his best soldiers. Who’s to say that they won’t be focusing on Fhirdiad next?”

“All the more reason to use every resource we have to find them!” Dimitri barks, “We must wipe those miserable maggots from the face of this planet immediately.”

“You keep your soldiers here, Dimitri.” Byleth says, as calm as ever, and Dimitri almost wants to hate her for it. “I can dispatch the Knights of Seiros to join in the search in their stead. I worry that Sylvain might be correct in his suspicions, in which case we cannot afford to have Fhirdiad defenseless.”

“I can have some of my men ride up to join as well.” Sylvain says, “Since our negotiations with Sreng have been going well we won’t need them all at the border.”

Dimitri wants to go himself. Wants to find whoever did this and tear them limb from limb. It has been a long time since he had lost himself to blood lust, but he would return to it in a heartbeat simply to teach those traitors what happened when they fucked around with a king more beast than man.

But Felix wouldn’t want that, would he? Felix who had always condemned him for stringing gravestones around his neck and listening to the commands of the dead rather than the words of the living. Felix who had, somehow, come to forgive him all the same.

Felix would have loathed being one of Dimitri’s ghosts, and yet in this, too, Dimitri had failed him.

“Very well.” He eventually agrees. It is not what he wants, far from it. If Dimitri had his way he would rain fire and brimstone down upon every single person that had had a hand in taking Felix from him, not letting up until every last one of them was nothing more than a mangled corpse. But he has a fractured country to rule now, to continue healing from those five years of war, and even though he cannot imagine doing it without Felix by his side there doesn’t seem to be much of a choice anymore.

Sylvain and Byleth immediately leap into strategizing, talking numbers and routes and potential dangers. There is still much to learn before they can even be sure to find the perpetrators, as much as Dimitri longs for the day that he can rip them limb from limb. Their meeting lasts the rest of the afternoon, and though Dimitri sits, listening, he does not contribute. Instead he simply stares out the window, watches as the sun slowly begins to set, until the hour is late enough that he can no longer see it beyond the trees.

Eventually, the small group breaks for dinner. But while Sylvain and Byleth head for the kitchens, Dimitri does not follow.

He should eat, and he knows it. But even though he hasn’t been able to taste food for years, now he cannot even stomach the thought of it. So Dimitri goes upward instead, walking and climbing until the cold night air greets him on the western ramparts. It is a better option than his room, where the chill he would feel would be one of loss rather than weather. The bite of the wind is a welcomed pain, harsh against the skin of his face and he cannot wait for it to numb him completely.

For now the ramparts are empty. There will be patrols later, throughout the night, though even those are lessened by the number of soldiers that have been sent out to investigate Felix’s demise. But right now it is Dimitri and Dimitri alone up upon them, and from this peak of the castle the city surrounding it seems minuscule. He can just barely spot the lights radiating from the businesses and homes, no brighter than the stars that are spattered across the night sky.

It would be so easy, he thinks, to lift himself up onto the wall. Easier still to throw himself off of it.

“Is that what you want?”

Dimitri goes stiff, his jaw clenched tightly though he resolutely does not look behind him, where the voice had come from. It’s not real, he reminds himself. It is not Felix standing there. Not really.

“Would killing yourself really make things any better?”

“At least then I would be with him.” He says, without meaning to. It’s the truth, though, isn’t it? Regardless of whatever afterlife may await, that is the only way he could reach Felix now.

“You’re a damn fool, Boar.” Felix bites from behind him, and he really is, isn’t he? What would the real Felix say, if he knew that Dimitri had been standing here contemplating ending his own life simply because Felix was no longer in it? Harsher words than the ghost, surely.

It’s only then that Dimitri turns, taking in the familiar cross look on the ghost’s face, the inherent stiffness of his shoulders. 

“Do you really think that’s what I want?” Felix asks, and Dimitri has nothing to turn to but the truth.

“I know it’s not.” Felix would hate him for even thinking about it. Felix would never forgive him for dying like this, not after everything they had done to survive this far.

But it’s hard to think about what Felix would want when Felix is gone. There is no more Felix to hate him or forgive him, so what is even the point? In the darkness of the night, Dimitri can just barely see the chain that falls beneath Felix’s shirt. The chain that carries the ring that Dimitri had given him.

“You’ve already buried me, Dimitri.” Felix says, “It’s time to move on.”

“Not until they’ve paid for this.” Dimitri answers, “Not until they’re dead.”

“Dead like me?” Felix asks, familiar in his bitterness.

 _Yes_ , Dimitri thinks. _Dead like you_. Then, maybe, he can move on.

  
—

  
It takes four days for Sylvain’s troops to arrive in Fhirdiad, and one more for him and Byleth to depart to Garreg Mach. The plan, as far as Dimitri understands, is still a loose one. Search every possible corner, smoke out the rats, and exterminate them appropriately.

Dimitri remains. Not because he wants to, but because he must.

Felix is a constant, haunting presence. Everywhere Dimitri goes, Felix follows, in a grim parody of the lives they used to have. And while Felix has plenty to say, always commenting on the mundane tasks that fill Dimitri’s days, Dimitri does not respond. He refuses to let anyone know that his madness is creeping back in, that he is once more slowly losing his mind. Not even Dedue can know, not now. Not when so much is riding on Dimitri’s shoulders. 

He cannot lose this too.

He cannot lose himself. Not again.

  
—

  
Dedue is no idiot. He knows Dimitri almost as well as he knows himself, knows that when the king gets that look in his eye it can mean nothing good.

He also knows that confronting Dimitri about it would end in nothing productive. So instead Dedue waits. Watches. Listens. Before he enters the room he’ll stop outside of it, ear pressed close to the door to listen for the king’s murmuring. When they’re together, he keeps an eye on Dimitri, watching for any signs of him staring distantly into empty space.

On their own, these things would not be particularly worrisome. People are frequently prone to talking themselves through problems, or spacing out at times. But Dedue knows Dimitri. He knows the way that his blue eye is clouding over day by day, the way his words become shorter and sharper. He has lived this before, and he cannot live it again.

Unfortunately, there is little to be done in Fhirdiad. With Sylvain and Byleth out leading the search across Fódlan, Dedue cannot do much beyond waiting for the day that one of their correspondences arrives with good news. Not that finding those responsible will change what had already been lost. 

And so, life goes on. Slowly but surely, all while Dimitri sinks deeper and deeper into his pit of despair.

“We can’t keep going like this.” Ingrid mutters one afternoon as she paces the length of Dedue’s office, “We need to do something.”

From his desk, Dedue sighs, “What would you suggest? He’s mourning.”

“We all mourned!” She says, whirling around on her heel to continue her path back across the room, “It doesn’t change the fact that life is still going. We need him.”

“He is not well, Ingrid.” Dedue reminds her wearily, “It took Rodrigue’s death to bring him back to us before, we cannot expect him to simply wake up one day and be fine.”

“I know that, I know! Goddess, if only Sylvain could just find them already.”

“I doubt that revenge will do His Majesty much good.” Dedue says with a sigh, “It hasn’t ever before.”

Ingrid grits her teeth, “It would be a step forward, at least, rather than this endless waiting.”

Anything Dedue might have to say to that is interrupted by a hurried knocking on the door, and instead all he says is “Come in.”

The door creaks upon opening, a nervous looking squire stepping into the room with a folded missive in hand, “An urgent message from Lord Gautier, sir.”

Dedue is out of his chair and across the room in a heartbeat, just barely thanking the young boy before closing the door on him. Messages from Sylvain are hardly uncommon, coming once a week or so, but never before had one been classed as urgent. The wax seal is broken easily, and as Dedue skims the contents his face pales. Ingrid is at his side in an instant, 

“What is it?” She asks, and Dedue shakily offers the missive for her to read.

“Sylvain has found them. Ready your pegasus knights, we’ll be sending him reinforcements. I’ll write to Byleth, hopefully she will be able to assist as well.”

“Goddess.” Ingrid whispers, so soft that it might not have been heard had they not been standing side by side, “That idiot actually did it.”

  
—

  
Two moons now, Felix has haunted him. Most of the time, the ghost is angry. Dimitri knows how to handle that, has had years upon years of experience dealing with Felix’s hatred and rage. Those are the easier days, where Dimitri is yelled at and berated, constantly reminded of his weaknesses and failures. 

But some times the ghost is quiet. Contemplative. Dimitri does not know how to handle those days, when Felix will simply watch him and, only on occasion does he speak. When he does it’s like a knife in his chest, for the ghost will ask him things that Dimitri cannot answer.

Never are there days when he is alone. Felix follows him like a second shadow, some days from the shadows, but mostly by his side. In life, Dimitri would have been delighted by it. While it hadn’t been unusual for them to be together for chunks of the day, there were always things to be done separately as well. Spending every day in each other’s presence should have felt like a dream.

Now, however, it was only a nightmare. 

Standing at the foot of the bed when he wakes. Sitting across from him at breakfast and dinner. Hovering, always hovering, as he tries to do his work. Felix’s ghost is a constant, looming presence that Dimitri cannot rid himself of. 

The ghost wants blood, and every day Dimitri is more inclined to give it to him. It should be terrifying, the way his bloodlust has surged so rapidly, but most days Dimitri cannot find it in himself to care. Instead he stays locked away in his chambers, seeing little of anyone but Dedue, who brings meals he no longer eats and work that simply piles up upon his desk. 

He’s no more than the boar that Felix had loathed for so many years, yet not even that knowledge can change things now.

  
—

  
Though there is an ever growing pile upon his desk, an endless list of documents to read, to sign, to respond to, Dimitri instead finds himself pacing the length of the office attached to his personal chambers. Felix is watching, as always, but has been quiet for the past few hours. Dimitri almost wishes he wasn’t, if just to hear something beyond his own thoughts.

There are whispers outside of his chambers, but Dimitri hardly pays them any mind. Are they even real? He’s not sure, not when he’s had Felix whispering in his ear day in and day out for so long. The voices of the living and the voices of the damned are one and the same, these days.

“Not well.” He hears, hushed and anxious. Someone else speaks, louder and angrier “important… he needs to know.” 

He almost wants to laugh. What else is there for him to know? There is nothing that can change the fates of the dead, nothing that could bring Felix back to him.

“You won’t even try?” Felix asks, and Dimitri can almost feel the heat of his breath against his ear. It feels so real, like it is really Felix standing behind him, but it’s not and he knows it isn’t.

“Silence.” Dimitri barks, lashing out behind him as though that would dispel the ghost. It doesn’t, it never does. Felix still stands there clear as day, his mouth hardened into a firm line as he stares up at the king. “Leave me be! I will get you your revenge!”

“Do you think that’s really what I want?”

“I cannot give you anything else!” Dimitri exclaims. His heartbeat pounds in his head like a drum, each one more painful than the last and he has never wanted to rip the damn thing out more than he does now. What good has his heart ever done him anyways? 

He turns away from the ghost, only to see that Felix is at the door now, his clothes dirty and bedraggled, and Dimitri wants to hate the sight of him. After all of this time, unable to escape that familiar, ghostly stare, he should want nothing more than to be rid of it. But in the end it is still Felix, the last Dimitri will ever have of him. 

“You’ve gone mad again, haven’t you?” Felix asks, and though Dimitri laughs it is far from a happy one. 

“You are well aware of the answer to that.” He bites back, “You remind me of it enough.”

“Dimitri.” Felix says, and there’s an unfamiliar caution to the word as he slowly walks closer, “Look at me.”

“Have I not done enough of that?” Dimitri asks bitterly, and he does not let his eyes linger, “You haunt my every waking second, a constant reminder of all of my failures, and no matter how I beg you to leave me be you never listen. Just like my Felix.”

“ _Dimitri._ ” Felix repeats, more urgently this time. He is nearly close enough now that Dimitri could reach out and touch him, but that is a foolish notion. It is but a ghost wearing Felix’s skin, a product of his own insanity. There is nothing there to touch. “I _am_. I’m right here. Look at me!”

So Dimitri looks. It is a perfect reconstruction of Felix, a Felix who had only just arrived home after a mission, still covered in dirt and sweat. The Felix that should have come home to him those long weeks ago, but never would again. Dimitri longs to hold him, to feel the heat of his skin and finally dispel the chill that has embedded itself in his body. To brush away the fall of his hair, oily though it may be from his long trip. To kiss his lips and, for once, know peace again.

But those are nothing more than fantasies. Felix, his love, his light, is naught but a rotting corpse. What stands before him is just an illusion, a trick of his long-gone mind.

“Why can’t you just leave me?” Dimitri’s voice is soft, more of a desperate plea than the demand that he had intended. “Please, Felix.”

What little distance left between them is closed in a heartbeat as Felix strides forward, his arms wrapping up and around Dimitri’s shoulders in a tight embrace. Like this he almost feels real, and at that thought Dimitri has to hold back a sob. It’s too much, holding Felix like he’s real. Like he’s not just a specter of all of Dimitri’s failures.

All the same, this is the only Felix he has now. And if this is Dimitri’s last chance, the very last night he can have with the man he has always loved, he’d be the biggest fool in all of Fódlan not to take it.

Dimitri pulls back just enough so that he can crush their lips together in a dizzying kiss, pouring every ounce of his feelings into it. It is not, by any means, a good kiss. Yet it is one that he never should have had, and that alone he cherishes more than anything. It is the last vestiges of his sanity, the last love he will ever give. For this one solitary night he can have Felix again, and if he’s mad by morning than so be it.

He hefts Felix up into his arms, desperate to not let any part of their contact break as he does. Immediately Felix’s legs wrap around his waist, a dance as familiar to them as fighting. Without a second thought Dimitri whirls them around to face his desk, roughly sweeping all of its contents onto the floor before pinning Felix to the wood. 

It is only then that their lips break, Felix’s voice a soft pant when he speaks, “Dimitri, wait—”

“I have waited long enough.” Dimitri replies in a growl, “And I will wait every day for the rest of my damned life. Tonight, at least, I will have you.”

The sound of ripping fabric is as loud as thunder, buttons from Felix’s coat scattering across the floor as they’re torn from their bindings. Next come the laces of his pants, loosened just enough so that Dimitri can pull them down to around Felix’s knees along with his small clothes. Finally is the dirt stained shirt, exposing milky skin of his familiar toned chest and with it, the golden ring that rests ever so delicately against his clavicle.

He wants to touch it. To slip it onto Felix’s finger where it belongs, where his wedding ring would have sat during official court events once they had been wed. Now they never would be. Felix’s wedding ring will sit in its box for the rest of eternity, never to know the warmth of his skin.

“Stop, Dimitri. Listen to me—”

Dimitri does not. What reason does he have to listen to a ghost? Instead he bends over, latching onto Felix’s neck with his teeth, biting and sucking until a bright mark is blooming there. While Felix’s hands are tangled in the thick blond of Dimitri’s hair, there is no real force to the tugs that he gives them. Nothing to back up his words of protest. Lower and lower Dimitri goes with his mouth, leaving bites wherever he goes and tracing familiar scars with his lips. 

By the time Dimitri makes it down his chest Felix is hard, his cock blushing red as it curls up towards his stomach. “Do you still want me to stop?” Dimitri asks as he wraps his fingers around it, starting to pump slowly. Felix’s face is flushed, nearly the same color as his leaking cock, and Dimitri is reminded, suddenly and violently, how much he loves this man. It’s not real, but oh pretending has never felt so good.

“If this is what it takes for you to fucking listen then go ahead.” Felix all but growls, “But once you’ve had your fun I expect you to open your damned eye and _listen_ to me.”

“My love,” Dimitri whispers, in a way that has always been reserved for Felix and Felix alone as his hand slowly and deliberately works Felix to the edge, “Were you real I would listen to you forever. For every second of every day, for the rest of our lives. But you’re not, and aren’t you the one who always told me not to listen to ghosts?”

It is not enough, to fuck a ghost as though it were real. It would never be enough, not after knowing how the real Felix had felt against him. But if this was all he could have, then so be it. 

  
—

  
Dimitri wakes abruptly. He’s in his bed and his room is dark, but he has no recollection of ever going there. In fact, the last thing he remembers is having Felix, pressed against his desk in the attached office.

There is no Felix now. No matter how Dimitri peers into the darkness there is no sight of him, despite the ghost having been following him relentlessly for weeks. Of course it is now that the damned thing sees fit to leave him be, when Dimitri is long past the point of no return.

Never before had he been able to touch a ghost. Even during the war, when he was more beast than man, Dimitri had never managed to _feel_ the spirits of the dead. He had tried, oh how he had tried, desperate for even a second of physical contact, all to no avail.

But he could feel Felix. Had felt how warm and real and _alive_ he was, but he _wasn’t_. It is by far the cruelest trick that Dimitri’s mind has ever played on him, and as he sits upright there in his bed, a leaden weight where his heart had once been, he knows that this is it. He is too far gone now, worse than he had ever been during his years of bloodlust. He cannot possibly lead this thrice damned country, could never ask his people to put their faith in a king as mad as him. 

The room is deathly silent. For once Dimitri cannot hear the whispers of the dead, reminding him of all of his failures. The silence is oppressive, bearing down on him until all that he wants is to destroy whatever he can lay his hands on. He wants to tear the room to shreds in his grief, to break every last thing in this room that reminds him so dearly of Felix. But his body feels too heavy to move, his limbs weighed down so much that even his unnatural strength couldn’t possibly lift them.

Instead he sits, sheets and blankets pooled around his waist as he stares blankly into the darkness. Whether he’s mourning Felix or hating himself he does not know. Both, probably. The room is no more than the immediate bubble around him, nothing but himself and the dark.

When a door creaks open, Dimitri does not notice. When soft voice says his name, he does not notice. When the bed beside him dips under a new weight, he does not notice. It is only when a gentle hand brushes the hair away from his eye that he snaps from his trance, gaze slowly turning.

It is Felix sitting next to him, skin red from a bath and an unfamiliar look in his eyes. His shirt is open, displaying a trail of bite marks from neck to navel, alongside the long familiar scars and other, fresher injuries. Between his clavicle sits the ring, innocuous in and of itself, yet Dimitri almost wants to sob at the sight of it.

“Dimitri?” Felix asks, unusually soft, “Are you with me?”

There’s a tenderness to his voice, a worry that one would normally never associate with Felix. He’s speaking as though the king might break upon a single wrong word, and Dimitri almost misses the ghost’s cruelty. That, at least, is something that he knows how to handle. This kind Felix is too much for his broken heart to take.

“What must I do for you to leave me?” It’s a desperate plea, surely unfitting for someone of Dimitri’s station, but that’s true of all of him now, isn’t it? He’s not fit to be king, not when his mind is this broken, “Felix please, I cannot take this anymore.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Felix says firmly, taking Dimitri’s left hand from where it has been resting atop the comforter to press against his own chest. There is a steady beat there, a lullaby that Dimitri has fallen asleep to many a night when his demons had been too much to bear alone. “I’m not a ghost, Dimitri. I’m right here.”

There is a beat. The revelation comes slow, like the sap that oozes from the dozens of pine trees that surround the city. Felix’s heart beats, which can only mean— 

It’s not a ghost. It is Felix, flesh and blood Felix, just as Dimitri has longed for. He can feel the heat of his skin, the way his chest rises and falls with every breath and Dimitri— 

Dimitri does not understand.

“You cannot… it cannot be.” Dimitri mumbles, dragging his eye up to meet Felix’s, “It’s not possible. The bodies—”

“Were not mine.” Felix finishes, as though it is the most obvious thing in the world, “You of all people should have known better than to assume just because of my damn sword.”

“Felix…” For the first time in over a decade, Dimitri can feel the sting of tears as they well up in his eye. He cannot remember the last time he cried. Not since before the Tragedy, because even as a child his father had always chided him about it not being proper for their stations. Now, however, he doesn’t care. Felix is sitting here, real and alive, and Dimitri couldn’t care less about propriety.

“We can talk in the morning.” Felix says, “You need sleep.”

“But how—”

“In the morning.” Felix cuts him off, and with tears streaming freely down Dimitri’s face he wipes them away with a touch so tender it doesn’t feel real, “We’re both exhausted.” He slips under the covers with Dimitri before gently pulling him back down onto the bed.

“I love you.” It’s no more than a feeble whisper, Dimitri gathering Felix into his arms as though he might disappear any second. “I _love you_.”

“I know.” Felix says, equally as soft, “Go to sleep, Dimitri. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

It should be shameful, the way his voice breaks as he asks, “Promise?”

Felix huffs, but there is no malice in it, “I promise.”

  
—

  
There is sunlight trickling into the room when Dimitri next opens his eyes, just a sliver from where the curtains do not quite meet. It is still more than enough to identify the man he’s still holding as none other than Felix. Felix, who is looking at him with his amber eyes, real and alive and _here_. 

Realization comes crashing like a wave, washing over him until Dimitri is certain he will suffocate from it. Felix. Alive. It should not be possible, and yet, by some miracle of the Goddess, _it is_.

He doesn’t realize how tight his grip has gotten until Felix is struggling in it, his hands planted against Dimitri’s chest and pushing as he grunts, “Are you trying to kill me you stupid boar?”

“Oh, Felix-” Dimitri starts, letting go only to touch Felix’s face, delicate and hesitant, as though Felix might break with a single touch. It is a ridiculous notion, after everything they had been through, but rationality is the last thing on Dimitri’s mind, “Goddess, Felix. You’re here? You’re really here?”

“I’m right here.” Felix repeats, his gaze unusually tender, and Dimitri can’t help the tears that spring to his eye. “Now come on, you desperately need a bath. You smell like you haven’t washed in weeks.”

“But _how_?” Dimitri asks, and when Felix pulls away from their embrace he follows in a heartbeat. His legs tangle in the sheets as he tries to get up and he all but falls out of their bed, Felix looking down at him with an exasperatedly fond look. “I lost you.” Dimitri continues from the floor, reaching a hand upward that Felix takes without hesitation, “I cannot lose you, Felix.”

“And you won’t.” Felix says, pulling the king up with a single easy motion and tugging him in the direction of the bathroom, “Frankly I’m insulted that you ever thought that Imperial idiots like that could ever take me out. I have no intention of dying now, Boar.”

“What was I supposed to think, Felix?” Dimitri asks, gripping to Felix’s hand as though it was the last thing tethering him to this world while stumbling after him, “When there was nothing identifiable beyond your sword?”

Felix huffs, “It is… understandable.” He concedes, shutting the bathroom door behind them and only then does he let go of Dimitri’s hand. Dimitri misses the touch immediately, wants nothing more than to reach out and hold his love for the rest of time, but Felix shoots him a knowing look as he heads for the bathtub and so Dimitri reluctantly stays put.

It doesn’t take long for the tub to fill, steam curling through the air and warming the room, and through it all Dimitri’s eye does not leave Felix once. Even as he settles into the water he cannot tear his gaze away, as though looking away for so much as a second would take Felix from him once more.

Felix, thankfully, makes no move to leave. Instead he pulls a stool up to the head of the tub, gently coaxing water over Dimitri’s hair. 

“Will you tell me now how I still have you?” Dimitri asks, craning his neck so that he can look up at Felix, “All we knew for certain was that your group was ambushed, so how is it that you are here with me now?”

“Those idiots thought I would be more valuable to them alive than dead, so they took me captive.” Felix answers, not so much as pausing in his ministrations, “Their mistake, since they’re now the dead ones.” He grabs a bottle beside the tub, squirting some of its contents into his hands before ordering, “Stop staring at me. It’s weird.”

Dimitri cannot help but laugh, “Is it? You’ve come back to me against all odds and it’s _‘weird’_ that I cannot take my eyes off of you?”

“Do you want me to wash your hair or not?” Felix snaps back, though there is no bite to it. Smile still on his face, Dimitri obliges, and he revels in the feel of familiar fingers coaxing through his hair, “You’ll have to wait for Sylvain’s report if you want more information. I don’t have much recollection of the time between the ambush and when he showed up. According to Annette they were giving me something, though what or why no one bothered to ask.” Even from behind he can see how Dimitri’s jaw and shoulders tense, so he adds, “I’m _fine_ , Dimitri.”

“Forgive me if it takes time for me to remember that.” Dimitri says softly, and though he longs to look back at Felix he keeps his gaze straight ahead instead. He will be content with the touch, for now, even if he is still half expecting Felix to vanish any second. This could all still be a dream, his broken mind’s last attempt to find solace in this cruel world. If it is, he hopes to never wake. 

The rest of the king’s bath is taken in silence, though it is a vastly different one than Dimitri had grown used to. The ghost’s silence was as painful as his words, a constant, bitter reminder that Dimitri had failed. This is far more reminiscent of nights spent together in front of a fire, where they could be quiet for hours without ever feeling alone. 

It is either a dream or a miracle, and Dimitri is not sure which. But as the day progresses, filled with hugs and tears and far too much paperwork for such a joyous day, he grows surer and surer that it is the latter.

And when they collapse into their bed at the end of the day, Felix as hot as a furnace against him, Dimitri finally, _finally_ sleeps easily.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated! And if you'd like, feel free to come talk with me on twitter [@ren_renners](https://%5Bhttps://twitter.com/ren_renners) bc I am very lonely in quarantine and my brother has no appreciation for gay anime chess.


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